Hello all! Things are picking up again at school so I shall remain rather slow with my updates, but here is another chapter for those of you who still read this story. Again I'd love to hear from you guys about what you think so far! Don't be afraid to leave me a review and share this story with friends you think might enjoy it as well!

Chapter XX

"He blames himself for this."

Anne nodded sadly to D'Artagnan as she glanced toward Aramis and where he had fallen asleep in the chair beside Katherine's bed, his body hunched forward and spread across the mattress with one of his hands holding firmly to hers. Despite the assurances of his friends that she would never be left alone that night they had been unsuccessful in coaxing Aramis from her side, watching the helpless look in his eyes sink deeper and deeper into his body with each passing hour. Philippe had been in briefly to see her before Porthos had escorted him back to his own chambers, but Anne had not left since she had removed herself from the ballroom hours before. The two of them were now before the hearth, with Anne seated in a chair and D'Artagnan staring heavily into the flickering flames as his mind attempted to make sense of the evening that had unfolded before them.

"As do you," she observed, turning her dark eyes back to her lover with the same sad look.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and leaned even more heavily upon the mantle of the fireplace, exhaling slowly as his hands balled into fists. "I should have known," he murmured to her through grit teeth. "I should have known that something was not right. I saw her wound that night at the Bastille, I asked her about it the first night we were at the palace-"

Anne was on her feet in an instant, moving to wrap her arms firmly around D'Artagnan's chest and hold him close to her when she heard the change of emotion in his tone. Worry filled her dark orbs as she too looked toward the fire, her mind whirling with how best to handle the situation that had them all so stressed and strained. Were it just one man who was affected by the tragedy then perhaps she might have known better. But this was four men…no, five, she corrected quickly as Philippe's face came to mind. All five of them were affected differently by Katherine's illness, and she would be foolish to ignore the way her own heart beat at the very idea of losing the young woman to such a fate. In the few short days that Katherine had been present at court everything about them had changed, and it was Anne's firmly belief that those changes were some of the best that she had seen since her days as a young Austrian bride.

"It is not your fault," she whispered soothingly, tightening her arms a little to remind him of her presence as she felt his body quiver against her own. "You could not have known what was happening unless she had told you."

Despite her efforts, D'Artagnan was not convinced of his innocence in this matter. There had once been a time when Katherine had confided nearly everything in him, from the smallest of sins to the silliest of thoughts and questions that had come to her childish mind. And yet it seemed as though everything had changed overnight since she had helped to save Philippe from the Bastille. Gone was the child that he had known and helped to raise, the child who had innocently asked the questions of life of him without hesitation. The instant it had appeared that they were in trouble that night she had insisted on going along with them despite whatever dangers lay ahead. She had not once thought of her own personal safety, nor truly understood the gravity of what they had been about to do. She knew nothing of Philippe save for his connection to Louis, and yet she had gone with them. Had that been their mistake? Thinking that perhaps she would have been better at their side then left behind to wait in terror?

Many of these questions had plagued his mind since he had awoken to learn that his niece had been hurt during the skirmish at the Bastille, but they haunted him even more now that they were at risk of losing her all together. And while he knew in his heart that there was nothing he could have done to have prevented her from being present that night, he couldn't help but feel that there was something further he could have done to keep her from harm. As soon as he had seen here standing with the others at the base of the stairs, he should have known what to do. He should have been able to protect her.

"For years I watched Louis grow, believing himself to be the son of another man and therefore above all who surrounded him." His chest rumbled with each word, bringing Anne's eyes from the dancing flames of the fire and up toward the part of his face that she could see from where she stood. "I protected him with everything that I had, defended him against all others when they sought to discredit him for his actions. I knew nothing of Philippe, but I had Katherine to help ease some of the pain that I felt each day as Louis fell further and further from the path I would have wanted for him."

The woman nodded silently, letting her thumbs move soothingly against the material of the shirt that was pressed to his chest in her embrace. Nobody understood better than she did what plagued D'Artagnan all those days, for she too had been forced to silently watch her son drift into the darker side of his personality, his compassion for others shrinking more and more each day.

"She was, in her way, my salvation during those days," the musketeer continued, voice quivering slightly. "If I have failed to protect her…if I lose her…" he swallowed. "I do not know that I will ever be able to forgive myself."

A silence fell over the room as neither of them continued their conversation. For her part, Anne just didn't know what it was she was meant to say at a time like this, when she knew that words alone could not help the misery and guilt that D'Artagnan was feeling, nor would they be able to heal the wounds that had placed themselves across his heart. For years she had believed Philippe to have died at childbirth and she had carried that ache with her all through the years until at last her husband revealed the truth to her on his deathbed. In that instant there had been a new kind of guilt that had crept into her soul and sat there like a heavy stone placed around her neck. She had missed his entire life, from his first steps to his first word and everything beyond that. Nothing could ever begin to make up for those moments that had been denied to a young mother, no matter how many titles and riches you bestowed upon her in their place. But now that he was here again and within her reach, Anne had every intention of making things right between them. No more secrets, no more hiding…it was time for the truth now.

Very slowly, she released D'Artagnan from her grasp. "I should go," she murmured softly, allowing a hand to linger on his back as he turned to face her. "There is nothing more any of us can do tonight. We must all rest."

"Anne-"

Both heads turned sharply toward the door of the bedroom as it opened itself to reveal another figure entering the room. The tension eased as they noticed that it was only Athos who approached, removing all urgency that the couple had felt at the prospect of being caught in such an intimate moment by one who might not be so discreet. "Rest," he continued in his deep tone, allowing both hands to brush against her arms. "You are right, we can do no more."

Out of respect for Athos, Anne refrained from leaning up to kiss him goodnight as her heart wished her to do. Instead she simply nodded to D'Artagnan, lingering only a moment longer as their eyes connected before she turned away and headed for the door. Athos lowered his head out of respect, waiting until Anne was safely in the hallway and headed for her own chambers before he closed the door lightly and turned back to the bed and sighed lightly at what he saw.

"He still has not moved."

D'Artagnan nodded in silent reply as he too turned to look at Aramis, noting how much his friend seemed to have aged since the beginning of the night when they had all been chatting happily with one another. "No doubt he will feel some discomfort in the morning."

Neither spoke in comment of the failed attempt at humour, knowing that even if Aramis were to experience the greatest physical pain of his life by sleeping in that position, it would be nothing to the emotional anguish that his heart was sure to feel. The lives that they had chosen had not been easy ones to live. Every time they had donned the uniform of the musketeer they were acknowledging the fact that they might be sent on a mission from which they would never again return, willing to lay down their lives in service to their country and their King. It could be from something as simple as a skirmish with the Cardinal's guards that forced them to their beds with wounds, or perhaps something more dangerous that lead them to English shores in the hopes of preventing a war between two countries that would eventually bring them to their graves. It hadn't mattered what the mission was, as long as they were successful or had given their lives to try and see it accomplished.

But they had been young men then, foolish to the point of reckless without anything to lose in the world. There had been no wives, no children nor any sort of devotions aside from the ones that they lay before the feet of their King to consider when they rode out each day. Everything was different now though, as the years had proven themselves to be filled with trials and tribulations for men who were fortunate to have survived as long as they had. There was no glory to seek, no riches to be claimed and no adventure to follow. All there was for them now was what they chose to make of the remainder of their lives.

And chose they had.

"There is something sinister at work here," Porthos growled in his frustrated tone, slipping into the room to join his friends.

Athos and D'Artagnan both turned to look at him, but it was D'Artagnan who folded his arms thoughtfully across his chest and lowered his head a little. "You believe so as well?"

Porthos nodded to him. "I may not be as young as I used to be," he began. "But my instincts have not yet failed me when I have needed them most."

All three pairs of eyes turned back toward the bed and the two motionless forms that lay upon them, each silently wondering just how correct Porthos was in his feelings. It was true that something within their present situation did not feel right to any of them, but none seemed able to pinpoint what exactly it was that was making them so uneasy. It could be any number of things, including the over-cautious frame of mind that they had adopted with both Katherine and Philippe nearby as of late. And yet the feeling lingered, sinking deeper and deeper into their subconscious with each passing second.

"All we can do is wait until we are sure," Athos reasoned, rubbing a hand against his tired eyes with a resigned sigh. "Although we share this feeling, I do not think that we can attribute it to Katherine's ill health. All we can do is continue to watch over her closely, and Philippe as well."

There was but a slight murmur of agreement before each man settled himself somewhere in the room. Their intentions of remaining there were clear, for while Aramis slumbered uneasily beside the unconscious form of his daughter, D'Artagnan and Porthos took the two chairs that lay before the hearth and slowly attempted to make themselves comfortable for the long night ahead. Only Athos remained unmoved, leaning his body against the wood panelling of the room. Should anyone else want to enter the room that night, they would need to make their way past him first.